The Redemption of Briar Moss
by sorka robinton
Summary: Bitter, itinerant mage Briar Moss has given up everyone and everything he loves after the death of a sister. In his wanderings, he finds a new student as well as a new cause. Formerly called Redemption by Sorka Returns. PostWill of the Empress.
1. Mage

_This is a story I started two years ago, as Sorka Returns, after losing my email service and password to my old penname, Sorka Robinton. Years later, I randomly remembered my original email and password, heralding my return to fanfiction writing after a really, really long time. I'm not sure whether or not this will be a blessing, or if I will suddenly flunk out of college. _

_This story is already posted under the penname "Sorka Returns," but I plan on rewriting and finishing this story. I don't have my old notes or outline, so wish me luck. I hope I have matured as a writer since my last stint. (I probably have- for one, I learned English grammar.)_

_I know we're not supposed to post multiples of stories, but I'm not sure what exactly I can do about it, since I no longer remember ANYTHING about my other screenname. If anyone can give me advice about this, I'd love to hear from you. Until then, I'm going to post this rewrite here, and hope it doesn't get deleted. Besides, I think this story will change enough by the third chapter that, besides names, the story will be completely unrecognizable. _

_Here was the original summary, by the way:_

_Mad Lady Adellaine, scorned for most of her life, is forced to come to terms with her power to both quell a rebellion in her land and save the broken heart of the inconsolable itinerant mage, Briar Moss. Please comment, though I admit it's a downer!_

_Also, it is NOT Sandry/Briar, and possibly not even Briar/Anyone, anymore. Plus, with a bit of tweaking, I can make it compatible with Will of the Empress. _

The Redemption of Briar Moss

1. Mage

---

Briar Moss, itinerant mage, stood in the roaring crowd as a finely dressed procession rode through the main street. Had he any thoughts left for himself, he might have realized that both his quiet demeanor and style of clothing caused him to stand out within the enraged throng of ragged peasants and day laborers.

A rotten vegetable flew past his head, in such a state of decay that Briar- with or without magic- was no longer certain if it had been a potato or an onion. "Pig!" a woman screamed at the passing nobles, mouth open to show less teeth than Briar had fingers. She threw another decomposed root, not the least bit inhibited by the strong warding spells placed around the nobles. Other voices joined hers, and the noise around him degenerated into a decently nasty, extended harangue. The worst insults, he thought vaguely, were aimed at a fat old Bag with a wife much younger than he was good for.

Of course, none of this was Briar's concern. Mentally shrugging, he turned to leave the crowded street, which continued to flood with people. "What's going on?" he finally asked, once it was apparent that he would be unable to escape the crush of bodies.

The man he had tapped gave the young mage a suspicious once-over. "Ain't no Bag," Briar told him, and the man grew visibly friendlier.

"Take no offense from me, lad," the man told him. "But you 'ernt dressed like no poor hand. That makes you different from the rest of us."

Briar nodded, understandingly. When he was on the streets, he wouldn't have trusted a clean, well-dressed man, either. He didn't notice the farmer's glance stray to his tattooed hands, where the pattern of vines shifted eerily under his skin and curled around one of the tattooed Xs on the web of his thumbs.

The man- possibly a farmer, Briar thought, due to a thick tan line above his eyebrows- reached over a shouting child and tapped the back of a friend. "This here mage wants to know what's on." The friend, a character who sported the thick ears and callused knuckles of a fighter, grinned in response. Briar's mind numbly registered the word "mage," but the second man had already pushed his way toward Briar and was energetically shaking his hand with a huge, scarred fist.

"Must have impressed my mate, here, he don't often talk to Bags," he commented, causing Briar to glare venomously at the huge man.

"Not a Bag," Briar growled, returning the hand clasp. "So what's this all about?"

The huge man and the farmer looked at each other, and shrugged. "Lord's a jackass with his taxes. We can't pay 'em."

"Even if they was fair, we couldn't pay taxes anyway!" the toothless woman interjected, having overheard the conversation. "His gods-cursed war's taken everything." Her gnarled hand latched onto Briar's wrist. "Our sons, our food, now our money."

The farmer gently detached the woman's fingers. "Don't stifle the poor boy, Mama," he told her, patting her hand kindly, before turning back to Briar. "Can't you do nothing about it?"

Briar snorted. "The hell do you expect me to do?" he demanded.

The farmer leaned closer. "But you _are_ that boy, aren't you?"

Briar's blood froze.

The expression on his face must have been truly frightening, because both the burly farmer and his muscular friend barely stood his ground before the slight young man. "I already told you I meant no offense," the farmer stammered, "but I saw your hands. We've all heard stories about you, you and those girls from Winding Circle."

A murmur ran through the crowd, and Briar suddenly found himself the focal point of four hundred people. "You called me a mage," Briar said quietly to the farmer.

"Ain't you?"

A little boy's gleeful voice interrupted. "There's Mad Lady Ad!" he cried, and the mob and Briar's attention was momentarily diverted.

"Who the hell is-" Briar began, before a young noblewoman rode into his view, her yellow eyes glinting in irritation as the child who had so noisily pointed her out. As she and the other nobles reached the Lord's gates, she suddenly let out a painful cry and half slid off of her horse before stumbling through the other nobles to press her hands against the gate. At her father's furious shout, a stable man in livery unceremoniously hauled her inside. An appreciative sigh ran through the crowd.

The old woman once again grabbed his wrist, dragging his head down to the level of her mouth. "We don't like her da the Lord, but she always does something like that when she passes through. "So we call her Mad Lady Ad, 'cause she crazy."

Briar squinted after the girl. "Why is this Ad girl crazy?" He had thought he had seen a shimmer out of the corner of his eyes.

"Why you think? You seen what she done. If that ain't crazy, than what is it?"

"Magic," Briar muttered.

---

After the incident in the marketplace, Briar really shouldn't have been surprised to find his reputation had preceded him. After a single inquiry, he had found himself politely ushered past the gates and directly into a sumptuous dining room for a personal meeting with Lord Gerntyl and his family.

Briar cleared his throat and tried to remember the grammar that Rosethorn and Lark had beaten into his head. "Lord Gerntyl, I hadn't expected to be recognized so far from my home." I say _home_ as if I have one, he thought bitterly, but, for the moment, technicalities weren't important.

The fat Bag smiled, his facial expression as oily as the gigantic slab of roast served onto his plate. "But my dear mage," he said, apparently not noticing Briar's wince, "of course stories have reached my lands of the young students who took the magical community by storm."

Lady Lida, the young wife, managed a frightened little smile. "May I offer my condolences? It was such a terrible tragedy," she managed to say, before retreating into her wine glass for the remainder of the meal.

Briar's back felt like a board. "Yes, thank you," he said curtly. A chilly silence fell upon the meal, and he was glad of it.

The Lord motioned to Briar with a piece of fried root speared on a fork. "About what you were asking, young man," he said, mouth full, "The retention of _all _my borderlands is the utmost priority. I'm not losing a single hectare to that upstart that has been taking my coastline."

"The people I have talked to in the city have spoken of recent hardships- food, for one," Briar said boldly, wondering whether this pompous cretin would have the nerve to toss him out of the castle on his rear end.

Gerntyl laughed heartily. "Surely they do not starve. You, mage, are too susceptible to false rumors." Briar barely managed to keep his mouth shut, and instead concentrated on cutting tiny, precise bites of meat with his knife and fork. Now that he knew all nobles weren't like Gerntyl, he found it even harder to tolerate the presence of imbeciles.

Sandry wouldn't have ruled like this, an inner voice told him, but he shoved it aside. Now wasn't the time to think about such things.

---

Gerntyl had been generous enough to offer board for the night, but despite the luxury of the room, Briar had ended up wandering the halls until dawn. Since Sandry's death, sleep had never come easily.

Briar found castles to be oppressive. Fine rooms reminded him too much of Emelan, the only gilded cage in which he had ever been comfortable. Among the only people he had ever loved, who had ever loved him.

He had let them down when they had needed him the most.

Exhausted, Briar collapsed into an overstuffed chair with his head in his hands. Rosethorn was right, he thought. He was destroying himself, but he didn't really care anymore.

He would leave Kenat in the morning, for a place where maybe- just maybe- there was no one who had heard of Winding Circle.

---

Comments? Reviews? Anything?


	2. Girl Tears on Boy Shirts

Wow. Second chapter, and I've already changed her powers, her personality, and the plot of the story. Go me.

I have forgotten the dreadful waiting (and constant checking) for new reviews/comments/suggestions. I remember the old, old days of before they even showed you how many hits each story would get. At least that is some sort of consolation, as I know people are actually reading this!

My two dear reviewers, I love you. Really, really love you. Novaya has a special place in my heart, for being first. And Eclipsa, I'm touched that you remember me after all this time!

One thing I would ask people to comment on is the descriptions of "the girl's" magic. It is actually supposed to be confusing and unknown, but I want to know whether or not it is so confusing unknown that my vague descriptions of it are visually incomprehensible. Let me know?

The Redemption of Briar Moss

2. Girl Tears on Boy Shirts

Briar was packed and ready before the servants had begun to prepare breakfast. He had dismayed several of the serving girls by swiping a bit of yesterday's bread for his meal. Apparently, none of the stories that had reached Kenat included a description of Briar's street rat years. After refusing multiple offers of a "proper breakfast for my Lord Mage," he had escaped the kitchens and to the stables.

Briar was helping one of the sleepy guards open the front gates when a sparkling patch of yellow magic appeared on the front of his shirt. Looking up sharply, Briar managed to detect a faint trail of magic in the direction of the castle. In a flash, one of Briar's wrist knives was in his hand.

The guard, of course, couldn't see either the magic traces or the giant blot of magic that had formed on Briar. "Sir, is something the matter?"

With an unearthly shriek, a young girl in a nightdress rounded the corner of the castle, one of her hands extended forward as if dragged. Plowing barefoot through animal refuse, rocks, and over rough cobblestones, Briar watched, dumbstruck, as she continued to head straight for him.

"Lady Adeline!" the guard shouted, no longer half-awake.

Briar could tell the girl – Mad Lady Ad- wasn't going to stop. She has no weapons, he quickly evaluated, and flicked his knife back into his wrist holster. Lord Fatball probably wouldn't take too kindly to his daughter being stabbed, even if it were done by the famous Mage Briar Moss. Neatly sidestepping out the girl's path at the last second, he was astounded to see her follow his movements instantly. Her hand jerked forward and landed directly on his chest with a resounding thump.

"Lady Adeline!" The guard grabbed the girl's shoulders and yanked her away. She collapsed, breathing hard, onto the cold stones at Briar's horse's feet. "What are you doing?"

She shook her head wildly, still trying to catch her breath. "I'm sorry!" she cried, tears beginning to leak from her eyes. "I- I just couldn't stop myself!"

The soldier sighed. "I'd better take her inside," he told Briar. "I hope you have a safe trip, Mage Moss."

Briar reached for his horse's lead, then hesitated. The girl's hands were glowing the same golden color of the magic that had pooled on his chest. Which meant that … Briar sighed. He had managed to avoid gaining a new student for five years, but it seemed his luck had finally run out.

"I think I ought to speak to Lord Gerntyl," he said, giving one more wistful glance at the castle gates. With a quick, sharp whistle, the guard called a stable boy to remove Briar's horse. "Coming?" he asked the girl, who was still crumpled on the ground.

She was still crying, but got up and took a few tottering, painful steps forward, leaving bloody, filthy footprints. Looking at the cuts and scrapes, Briar winced. "D'you mind if I-" he began.

"Please, by all means," she replied shakily, biting her lip against the pain. Gold fire bloomed around her left ear, and under his curious gaze, faded away just as quickly.

"How do you know what I was going to say?" Briar asked her, hands on his hips.

"I didn't," she replied a bit too quickly, her eyes darting slightly to the left like Tris's did when she was hiding something. "I'm sorry."

"Did too," he drawled, before catching himself. She had reminded him so much like the girls when they were her age that Briar's grammar reverted. Tris was a sneaky fibber except for her eyes, while Daja's eyes never moved at all, what with being a Trader, and Sandry was the easiest mark of all … Briar shook his head, furiously, to clear his thoughts. "So what was I going to ask?" he barked at the girl, much more sharply than he intended.

She shrank back. "You were going to say, 'Do you mind if I carry you in,'" she stammered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Briar felt like a monster. "Don't be sorry, just come on." She nodded tearfully, and he scooped her up, dirty feet and all. "Let's go see if we can't bandage up them walkers." She remained silent the entire way to the infirmary, but Briar could feel her tears seeping through his shirt. Weepy girls, he thought to himself.

Except for Daja, every woman Briar had ever known had leaked their eyes out on him a number of times, even Rosethorn, whom had used his shoulder as a hanky exactly three times.

Except for Daja. She had only cried on him once.

---

He hadn't even made it in time for the funeral.

Briar sat, his back pressed against the cold, granite gravestone and the raised metal letters that filled the engravings. Tris and Evvy had spelled the rock, he could feel, while Daja and Frostpine had done the metalwork. All around him, he could feel the magic and love that had gone into the gravesite. Deep in the earth he could feel Lark, who must have done Sandry's death clothes, the flowers felt of Rosethorn and even Crane, and Pasco had done something here, but Briar wasn't sure exactly what. Niko. Comas. Moonstream. Osprey. Dozens of others.

Feet stopped in front of him, red boots, and he knew it was her. Briar wondered where Daja had managed to find red boots. Head to toe in mourning, he thought, miserably.

She hadn't moved, and Briar didn't say anything. Minutes later she finally sighed. "I suppose Tris got at you."

Briar was almost surprised at how bitter his laugh was. "How did you know?" The weathermage's words- and slap- still rang though his head.

"There was practically a trail of blood leading here. Not literally, of course, but you must know you're leaking magic everywhere. We all are, saati."

"I don't even understand what happened, no one would tell me. All I know is – is that-" He stopped speaking abruptly, practically choking on the words.

Daja tapped him with the end of her staff, and he obligingly shifted over. With a ragged sigh, she sat next to him on the soft grass, an eye-smarting blur of red and brown he could see even through his brimming eyes. Reaching out a trembling hand, she gently traced the letters of Sandry's name before sitting next to him and leaning back against the stone, their shoulders touching. "An experiment gone wrong," she told him. "An accident, of course, some water apprentice lost his control, and Sandry got caught in it. The Water Temple dedicates mostly blame themselves, as do the Healers who weren't able to fix her. Crane locked himself in his greenhouse for weeks, he refused to leave. Until-" Daja swallowed. "Until it was over. He wouldn't give up."

"Why couldn't they help her?"

"She wouldn't let them put too much magic in her, right away, she said it wasn't a healthy thing to do. Her illness was largely magical, you know, and far more complicated than a natural disease. By the time she let them, they weren't able to do much to save her." Daja was crying now, her words punctuated by sobs. "When- when the time came- Tris and I held onto her as long as we could, but- we weren't strong enough to hold them both- and- and they broke away-"

"I don't understand," Briar said. Tears ran freely down his face, as he was encompassed with waves of guilt, helpless anger, and a deep, aching pain in his heart. "I don't understand."

"Because of the baby," she whispered, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her, before burying her face into his shoulder and weeping inconsolably.

---

"But there ain't no analgesics in that!" Briar bellowed, as the grim-faced healer cleaned and bandaged the girl's left foot. She flinched as the green ointment touched the deep cuts in her feet, and the healer slapped the top of her foot, hard.

"Stop moving," the healer snapped. "And she won't learn if it doesn't hurt her." With that, the woman shooed both the mage and the girl out before walking back into the infirmary, slamming the door shut.

Briar swore loudly enough that he could be certain that healer heard, before turning back to the girl next to him. Still in her dirty nightgown, she swayed where she stood, her bandaged feet awkwardly placed on the floor. Briar knew from experience how much feet cuts hurt, and decided it wouldn't be too inappropriate to offer her his arm, considering that he had already hauled her here over his shoulder.

The sound of her voice startled him out of his thoughts. "I will be alright, sir. I have to learn." And before Briar could even contradict her – after all, little noble girls shouldn't be walking 'round on bleeding feet- her white nightdress had disappeared around the corner.

When he talked to her father, Briar decided, he would need to bring up this concept of "learning."


	3. Leaving Out the Important Details

Notes go here!

I'm going to be deliberately obtuse over the subject of the past, and especially Sandry's baby, as mentioned in the last chapter. I hope by the time the story slowly ekes its way out, you readers will have been satisfied by the pace I chose to take the flashbacks. I want you to meet the new environment before the whole story of Emelan floods out.

Take the flashbacks with a large grain of salt. They might not be what they seem.

Also, speaking of flashbacks, are they clear? Is there anything I can do to improve their integration?

I can't find my copy of Will of the Empress. Which is problematic, I suppose, since I wanted to use bits from it.

Sorry this chapter is a bit short. Was going to make this chapter longer, but figured that properly meeting Mad Lady Ad would need it's own chapter all to itself.

The Redemption of Briar Moss

3. Leaving Out the Important Details

---

Lord Gerntyl was in the habit of taking his daily business in an ornately decorated chair, with such a smug expression on his face that Briar imagined the man must consider himself a figure of power and refinement. Perhaps the kingly comparison would have been more apt if Gerntyl himself were not overtly disgusting in both physical appearance and intention. Briar sat across the polished wood desk, in a chair much lower than Gerntyl's, and tried to avert his eyes from the excessive amount of lordly flesh draping over the armrests.

"My dear mage, I don't think I am familiar with this convention. Surely mages do not teach every little chit of a witch they manage to find. There are far better things to be done, especially by such figures as yourself," Gerntyl added, chuckling. "I know you have had only had one student, a woman of astonishing beauty and sharp wit. Our court has heard tales of Evvy Stonemage conjuring diamonds from-"

Briar silently ground his teeth; Gerntyl had already treated Briar to a rather inaccurate account of the young plant mage's escapades, and Briar had no intention of repeating the experience. Ever. "Lord Gerntyl, it is a common practice. Surely you understand the code was created in order to ensure that young mages are a least taught to control their magical impulses. As such, I am bound by honor to instruct your daughter." Seeing Gerntyl's dubious expression, Briar added, "Also, mages who do not uphold accepted commitments find themselves ostracized socially and legally from most respected magical institutions."

This Gerntyl could understand. For the rest of the interview, Briar couched his requests with the language of greed and personal gain, and found much success. Briar was to teach Lady Adeline, or as Gerntyl called her, "my eldest, unfortunately," for the period of one year, with the possibility of extending the contract at the end of the term. Briar wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to teach her, seeing as how Gerntyl avoided speaking about his daughter's powers and potential insanity. Barring injury, complete incompatibility, or censorious behavior from either party, Briar found himself agreeing to stay in one place for the first time in five years- more, he realized, since he and Rosethorn had traveled extensively since he had turned fourteen.

Briar found that Gerntyl had hired many illustrious mages in the past, and therefore had presupposed expectations of the housing, payment, and needs of any first-rate mage. When he heard the terms, Briar did not argue.

Later, Briar was led to an elaborate suite, complete with private bath, sitting room, bedroom, and balcony. A heavy bag of gold, his first month's pay, sat on a polished endtable. The craftsmanship of every item was very fine, and, remembering his first sleepless night under Gerntyl's hospitality, Briar wondered how he would ever manage to get any rest at all in such an extravagant room.

Most mages knew how to skin a rich living off of idiot lords. Briar was no exception, and in his younger years he had surely taken advantage of many benefits of fame and talent, but nowadays he found that he needed very little.

---

Lark was the only one who had seen Briar leave Winding Circle, and the only one who knew he never planned to return. In retrospect, Briar didn't mind. Lark had watched, a silently and unassuming as always, while Briar threw his few possessions into canvas saddlebags.

Lark looked much older than he remembered, though Briar had only been away for three months. "They told you about the child?" she asked, quietly, as Briar closed the final satchel. He nodded, swallowing hard.

"A girl," he managed to choke out, before hauling two of the bags to his shoulders. "Tell Rosethorn I'm sorry, and to take care of my _shakkan, _and tell Dedicate Oakwood that I won't be going back with his research group, and – Oh, Lark, I just can't stay, I can't-"

"Then go with our love," Lark told him, tears in her kind eyes. "You always have a home here, Briar."

He turned and walked out the door. His horse was waiting, a nondescript brown creature Briar had bought simply because she had been in the first stall at the stables. Securing his bags to her saddle, Briar turned to where Lark stood in the doorway of Discipline.

"Lark, do you know what Sandry was going to name her baby?"

"Amadine," Lark replied, "Amadine Pirisi."

Briar smiled, just a little. "Amadine Pirisi Moss," he told her. "Not too bad sounding, now, is it."

Lark's hand had risen to her mouth. "Briar-"

With a well-practiced move, Briar swung himself into his horse's saddle. "You'll hear all about it, for sure," he said, over his shoulder. "I took care of a lot of things while I was in the city. Goodbye, Lark."

---


	4. Lovers

Sorry it has been so long. I'm graduating from college soon, and exit exams have been horrific. I haven't quite had a life for the past few months. I'm so, so sorry.

My flashbacks are following a sort of theme. This chapter's is "promiscuity." I hope I don't run out of them. This story is taking more chapters than I expected.

Katiebug: Thanks for your comment! I really appreciate reviews, and hearing if people like the story. And my life revolves around Harry Potter (seriously, it does), so I'm really flattered!

Kriseleven: Thanks for the amazing review, and for the tip about ambient magic. I don't think what the student has can even be remotely categorized as that, but I'm hoping to make her powers weird enough to explain why all other mages except for a slightly unbalanced, depressed Briar have given up on her. (Also, I'm trying to be subtle about the pairings … or lack of. Note the strategic placements of the word "sister." This chapter seriously clears it up.)

Yeah, Sandry's dead. But of any of the girls, I can see Sandry being the one that WOULDN'T let Briar go off and wander the world in a state of perpetual depression. She'd probably be the one most likely to track him down and bug him, whether he wanted her to or not. But, regardless, we will be hearing from Tris and Daja at some point.

Please review! I always love hearing what you think. Even if it's just a really bitchy flame.

The Redemption of Briar Moss

4. Lovers

To the dismay of the manservants and the maid assigned to him, Briar wanted most of the rich furnishings removed from the sitting room as well as his bedroom. He had spent his first sleepless night wandering through his apartments, fingering the rich cloth and imagining just what an accidental spurt of magic could do to the finery. His gift might not have been a problem for most furniture, but the girls were another story. As the foursome had learned very early, silk burned quickly and gold wire yanked from its cloth at high speed hurt when it hit you. And this, mind you, was only Tris and Daja. Sandry's magic, let loose in a room full of cloth …

Lady Adeline's magic was still unknown, and Briar wasn't planning on giving it any advantages- at least not in the elements within the room itself. Remembering Daja's growing iron, he had removed most of the decorative metalwork; remembering himself, he ordered all of the plants to be moved to the balcony. As the tapestries were taken down from the stone walls, Briar had to swallow bitter memories of his sister unraveling dozens of projects- or reweaving people into the cloth, depending on the case. And if his new student was anything like Tris, Briar figured anything left in the room was fair game anyway.

Finally, all that was left in the classroom was a heavy, polished wooden desk (to duck behind, possibly), a cluster of comfortable chairs, an empty bookcase, and a thick rug that could be rolled up or placed over the hard stones of the floor. The rest of the spacious sitting room was empty.

The maid was wringing her hands. "Sir Mage, what am I supposed to do around here? There's nothing to clean, nothing at all-"

She was very pretty, Briar noticed, and five years ago he probably would have already flirted his way into her petticoats. Of course, five years ago he would also have enjoyed sleeping on embroidered velvet, and would have been living at Daja's house in Emelan with all of his friends. Five years ago, none of his friends were dead.

Briar shook his head, dispelling the worst of his thoughts. "You have any other duties you have to see to?"

"Just attending to you, Sir Mage. I clean your rooms, wash your clothes, bring meals, chaperone your lessons with the Lady, anything you need, really, any time of the day. I'm … I'm supposed to … share quarters …" she trailed off, her eyes trained carefully to the floor. Briar blinked, realizing the extent of the _duties_ Gerntyl had assigned this maid.

"Oh," he said, as blandly as he could. "You mean, stay here?" The maid nodded, blushing. With a start, Briar realized that she couldn't be much older than fifteen. Sixteen, tops, if his instincts were anything like they used to be.

"Those were my instructions, Sir Mage," she replied, still looking downwards. "I usually work the kitchens, but my Lord said …"

Briar had lost count of how many times he had silently cursed Gerntyl since he had agreed to the teaching post. "You can have the bed, then. I'll drag the day-bed into the closet, should be nice and cozy."

Her head snapped up. "Sir Mage-"

"My name is Briar," he said, perhaps more harshly than he ought to have, "and what he set up here ain't right. Now, are you going to help me or not?" He strode purposefully toward the rather luxurious red-and-gold embroidered fainting couch, and the maid followed silently. Together, they hauled the heavy piece into the walk-in closet, which had only held the scanty few pieces of clothing that Briar had unpacked from his saddlebags.

"Sir M- er, Briar," she said, correcting herself at his glare, "I could get in a lot of trouble for this. I ought to take the closet."

"I ain't going to tell," Briar replied, watching as her eyes were involuntarily drawn toward the huge, soft bed. "It's your pick, but I'm just saying that the closet is more than fine for me."

She looked longingly toward the plush bed. "You could share the bed with me," she told him, her chin set obstinately at a rather defiant angle. For a brief, painful moment, Briar was remind of a young Sandry at her most stubborn.

Briar suddenly felt quite tired. "Now, is that you offering, or Lord Gerntyl?" he asked, resisting the urge to rub at his weary eyes.

The girl paused to think. "Me," she finally announced. "I'm offering."

She didn't look surprised when Briar sighed and shook his head, but the unexpected amount of disappointment in her eyes prompted Briar to at least try to explain. "It's not you, it's just- well, I don't really do that kind of thing."

"That's not what we've heard," she said, smirking just a bit.

He sighed again. "At least," he conceded," I don't do that anymore."

---

When they finally met up, Pasco stared Briar down. Which was preferable, since Tris had screamed and hit him, and Daja had terrified him with her breakdown. It seemed as if Pasco, with his dancer and Harrier muscles, could pack a much more painful punch than Tris.

"Was it you." Pasco did not phrase it as a question.

Briar was genuinely surprised. "Course not. Pasco, she was my _sister_."

The lithe dancer sighed, and flowed into his seat with all the grace of a reclining panther. "That's what they kept telling me. It's just … I can't imagine who did it, if it wasn't you. I suspected you because you're the only male I've seriously seen her with."

"I can't believe Sandry ever was without suitors sniffing 'round."

Pasco snorted. "They were there, all right, but she didn't like them very much. I doubt it was one of them. Niko tried to See, but the only thing that the mirrors and stones showed was a stretch of road, and flying hooves. Could have been anywhere. Anyone. He tried again, but nothing showed up after that first try."

Briar let his head drop into his hands. "So the bastard's long gone."

"Pretty sure that's the case."

"Does- does everybody know?"

"About the baby?"

"Don't be a chuff, Pasco. Of course, the baby."

Pasco shook his head. "No. Not yet, at least. The temple is trying to keep it quiet, and she wasn't showing too much when … when she died. But you know how these things are. The entire Water Temple knew, and you know how _they_ are. Eventually the gossip will spread. I'd wager a month, two at most."

"But Pasco … you and I know she wasn't like that. She didn't sleep around."

"Like you."

"Shut up, tippy-toes."

" 'S true."

The two young men sat in uneasy silence. "They're going to drag her name through the mud," Briar finally said. "It wasn't so bad when she was just being a thread-witch, or riding improperly, or acting like a lady oughtn't. She wouldn't be the first to have the fun 'fore the altar, but they'll act that way."

"Briar," Pasco burst out, "I don't want to hear about her like that. They talk about you four, everyone does, and while it's bad enough to hear her called 'the dead one,' I don't want to have to punch every dirt-face rake who calls her something worse."

Briar stood up suddenly. "I need a drink."

Pasco stared up at him. "What the hell are you playing at? You don't drink, mate."

"Maybe this once. Where's the nearest?"

Pasco grabbed his arms, trying to peer into his face. Briar kept his eyes averted, however, toward a distant spot over Pasco's left shoulder. "The Fox's Den. But you don't want to go there, it's a veritable shithole, mate. Briar, look at me." When he didn't answer, Pasco shook him hard. "Briar."

"Pasco, tell them what we talked about. Especially Vedris, I'd rather not have a vengeful rich uncle on my back."

"Briar …" Pasco trailed off. "What are you-"

Briar brushed off Pasco's hands as he walked down the cobbled street. A few feet away, he paused, and looked over his shoulder. "I let her down, Pasco. Maybe they could have saved her if I were here, maybe they couldn't. Either way, I wasn't here to try. But-" Briar swallowed hard, willing his voice to hold out. "I'll fix this, I swear. Her baby'll have a father's name, at least."

"Wait." Pasco's eyes had widened, and in a few long lopes he was once again standing next to Briar. "What are you saying?"

"It's the only way, Pasco, other than hunting down the piss who abandoned her. Even if that were possible, I doubt we'd be able to keep from hurting him more'n a little." Briar gave a grim little smile. "Maybe they'd find his bits. Maybe not."

Pasco's grin was more than just a little feral, but it quickly faded into seriousness. "You don't have to do this, Briar. I could."

Briar clapped him on shoulder. "Last I heard, you had a pretty little girl-dancer waiting to be made an honest woman. Don't hurt her like that."

"It won't be easy."

"It won't. But when they gossip, at least they'll say that someone loved her, and they'll have a name to put to it. It's all I can give her, Pasco, and it'll never be enough. But it's the best I can do."


End file.
